Page 40 of Born in the Spring

Jasper / Now

Elara and I have been back to beingusfor a week now. A week of me still questioning what that actually is. Toeing the waters of my memories—and the now added jump I made outside on the main lodge’s porch, that she still hasn’t acknowledged—while trying not to drown in them.

A week since Mom reopened Jude’s Way. After some TLC, traffic returned to the slope almost immediately. No fuss, just as she wanted. Wedidhave to shoo away the media assholes wanting their pictures of the reopenedcrash site. I wanted to guide them to the top just to push them back off for calling it that.

A week of all of us being swamped in work leading up to Thanksgiving, to the race, and to Christmas, the busiest part of ski season.

On top of that, we had a small pile up on Babe’s Hook this morning. It was nothing serious, just some bruised body parts and egos. This happens sometimes. ButMom had a freeze response to the report, so Elara stayed with her as I helped patch up the embarrassment of those involved.

Now Elara’s babysitting Tripp’s kid and I’m stocking some late arrivals in the gift shop.

Tripp’s a big time skier, and on one side, it’s another punch to me, more hard luck, that he has to be good on the slopes, but on the other side, his skills out there keep himout thereand away from Elara longer.

Meredith was happy to hand over Skylar to Elara, like Skylar belonged to no one but her, and Tripp was even happier to hand off Meredith.

It hasn’t even been a year yet, and it’s like everyone wants to play Cupid,happyto shove Tripp into close proximity with Elara, as if she was even considering him. Like I’m not even here.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I open them in time to catch the falling snow globe, tipping right back off the shelf from my weakened grip, before it crashes to the floor. The fake snow whirls around like my stomach.

I set it securely with the others, then look toward the opened door to the shop, where I spied Elara returning to the main lodge with Skylar yanking her along, as the plague on my mind continues, infecting Tripp and excusing me.

Thatguy doesn’t take a hint. She hasn’tonceflirted with him or even looked at him in any way to say he should put moves on her. I know those blue eyes and every look inside them.

Elara belongs in my family. She always has. And she has decided what she wants, and it’s not Tripp. She’s nannying for him, but she’s not nannying forhim, I tell myself again. She loves the job. She loves Skylar, and she’s his favorite.

“You’re gonna break one of those.”

Robin’s voice slides over my thoughts, slowly refocusing my attention to the shelves. All of the snow globes have made it on, but one is in the wrong spot, so I put it right, then sigh with a tight grip around the edge of the box.

“Thank you for getting me the fuck out of there,” I say through a low laugh, motioning to my head and how I’ve been mentally checked out.

She gives me a look behind her glasses that saysno problem, and I notice her lipstick is still smudged from her lunch. She never cared, but I always noticed. So after the first time, I stopped telling her. She does her makeup once—in the morning, andwhere it runs to during the day is everyone else’s problem.

It’s a pink shade, the one she wore the most when we were dating, and it took me a long time to keep it associated with her—my girlfriend’s—mouth, and not Elara’s silky pajamas.

But every color makes me think of Elara. Pink, red, blue, white, black…she stole them all.

Robin tucks a strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear. “Lost again?” She’s checking on me for not the first time this week, shuffling postcards between her fingers. We keep those up at the desk, where she’s mostly stationed, and she’ll use them when she needs a bit of a distraction during a conversation.

The once-a-week phone call from her alcoholic father, who’s still in rehab, draws out the postcards.

Elara is also a subject that puts them in her hands.

I grunt with my pull on the cart to the next rows of shelves. “Lost. . .” I repeat, the word a shrug at myself, as I replace this empty box for the last one carrying some of our seasonal items. “. . .trying to find something,” I finish, cutting at the tape on the box.

“You won’t find it in here,” Court chimes in from where he’s hanging apparel, using his last break of the day to help. He thinks his support and knowing head gesture toward the door is helping too, and it does, but the sound of ripping tape echoes around us as I still lose patience and Hulk open the flaps.

“You can fight for her,” Robin says, giving her support, and I pause my shelving, staring down at a mini model of our ice skating rink balancing on my palm.

That’s the direction Shepherd came from when I saw him last before he. . .

And I didn’t stop him.

It’s not your place to be.

It’s okay.

“Hey.” Court’s voice is now beside my ear, his hand a quick squeeze on my shoulder, another prod out of my head. “It’s all gonna be all right,” he tells me again, having already reminded me a few other times, and I muster my usual response of a slight smile as I continue shelving.

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